Three Eyed Baby
by Fallen Ark Angel
Summary: Paul's calling it; either his wife is on drugs or pregnancy hormones are not sitting well on her at all. - One-shot.


Life on the road was such the norm for Paul that sometimes he forgot how nice it was to be home. To not be stuck in a motel or on the tour bus and to just have space, honestly, to do all sorts of stuff.

Like get away from Stephanie.

It was so much that they were having problems. They certainly weren't. There was no one Paul enjoyed more than his wife. Or that they really spent that much time around one another at work. Because they didn't. She was always busy, up there, with behind the scenes stuff while he was either on their air or prepping for it.

Rather, it was just that being in confined spaces for extended periods of time during their limited free periods could get more than a tad annoying.

There were things to do, up at the house, anyways. His wife was pushing ever closer to her due date (July; she was hoping his birthday because she was stupid and a woman and liked that sort of mushy stuff while he was hoping for his birthday too because he was stupid and a man and would feel prideful or something equally as idiotic over it) which meant that Paul had a crib to put together as well as a room to get painted (first Steph had to pick a damn paint already) or, probably, just get someone to do it for him.

He liked the latter idea.

Steph didn't, but then she wasn't the one that would have to be painting, would she?

Putting the crib together, at least, was kind of cathartic to the man as he sat alone in the nursery, parts strewn around, listening to some music through his headphones. Steph was around, somewhere, probably with her puppy, but had only told him to call her if he needed her.

He wouldn't.

Until dinner, in fact, he would be perfectly fine with not talking to Steph at all. They'd been stuck together in the tour bus after shows for over a month. He was enjoying being completely alone. Thoroughly.

Paul underestimated, as always, just how much he did need contact with Stephanie though, when he wasn't doing anything at all. He found himself in that situation when, after awhile, the crib was finally put together and rather than sit back and relax, admiring his work, he immediately wanted to show it off.

And there was only one person that he wanted to show it off to.

"Steph!" His foot had fallen asleep, as he was down there on the ground, so he hobbled around a bit as he searched their house for her. "You still here? You didn't leave, did you? Because that would be rude...unless you called out to me that you were leaving and I didn't hear you because I had my headphones in. Then it's kind of my fault, huh?"

He found Bluto, the dog, running around the backyard, but he was alone. And when he checked the garage, Steph's car was gone.

Huh. So even a house wasn't enough space for her.

"Maybe she went to get us something to eat," he suggested to the mastiff as they contemplated her missing car before heading back into the house again. "Or her, probably." Then he roughly patted the dog on the head in the way that Bluto loved. "Bet she told you goodbye though, didn't she?"

Heck yeah she had.

But she just loved him way more.

Duh.

One of the other things that Paul enjoyed doing when he was completely and utterly alone (Bluto ditched him to go chew on some of his toys in the living room), which was crank the stereo in the bedroom and go to sleep.

Honestly, he just slept better when there was clashing guitar and drums nearly drowning out the sounds of crass lyrics and screaming.

It relaxed him.

And the next time that he awoke, rather than hearing his rock music, the clanking of some furious typing could be heard. Blinking, he found his head pressed into his pillow, but when he turned it to the side, saw Stephanie there, of course, on her half to he bed.

"Uh," he mumbled sleepily. "What're ya doin', babe?"

She hardly glanced at him, instead glaring at the laptop as it sat before her on the bed. "Looking up the ratio of babies born a normal set of eyes and the ones born with three."

He was rather tired, he would admit, but that didn't even sound right to him. "Um, what?"

"I had this horrible dream," she breathed, finally looking over at him, "that the baby was born with three eyes and that the third one was just full of blood and it burst and-"

"Stephanie, what are you-"

"I'm trying to tell you-"

"It was a dream."

"That I've had for the fifth time! That means something."

"Baby-"

"No, Paul it-"

"Let me see this."

"You can't'-"

"Yes," he grumbled as he reached over to slam the laptop shut before snatching it, "I can."

Time had past, since he laid down, and the sun had set, so without the back light of the laptop, they were left in darkness. Paul only shifted some more, moving to drop the laptop down to the floor on the side of his bed while Stephanie pouted.

"I need," she complained, "to find out what that means, Paul. Do you think that it's, like, a premonition?"

"You're killing me."

"And I've been thinking," she went on as he moved to flick on the lamp on his bedside table so that they could stare at one another. Bluto, who was sleeping at the foot of the bed, lifted his head, but didn't move to go up top with them. "A lot. About a lot of things."

"That doesn't sound good." Paul was rubbing at his eyes then. He'd be up for awhile, he was afraid. "At all."

Reaching over to her own nightstand, Steph grabbed what looked like a milkshake (a bit melted, if the way that condensation was dripping down the sides of the plastic cup were any indication) and took a long sip before saying, "What if our baby's dead?"

"W-What?" He fully frowned at her then. "Stephanie-"

"What if? Huh? And like we just don't know it. And it's gonna be a stillbirth and-"

"Why would you even put that out there?" He reached over then, tapping her belly gently. "The baby kicks all the time!"

"...Well, what if it hates me?"

"Stephanie-"

"No, Paul, I've been doing a lot of research and a lot of girls grow up to hate their mothers."

"So?"

"We're having a girl!"

"Stop yelling."

"Or what if she's born with six fingers? Or something?"

"Why are you obsessed with adding things to the baby?"

"Or without a finger?"

"How do I respond to these things?"

"Or what if I never lose the baby weight?"

"Obviously, I leave you," he said, trying to distract her from her worries by pissing her off.

It didn't work.

She wasn't listening to him.

She just kept rambling.

"Or what if something happens to me? When I'm giving birth? And I die?"

"You're going very morbid today."

"Can you raise a daughter on your own?"

"I'm not going to have to, Steph." Paul made a face over at her. "Because you're not going to die."

"Or what if, like, I turn really hideous person now? Looks wise?"

"Just from having a baby?"

She was listening then, she must have been, as she managed to nod at him, blue eyes wide. "Yes! It happens."

"Like what? The baby just zaps all of your looks out of you?"

"Don't be stupid, Paul."

He blinked. "When this is all so serious?"

"It is!" Her breathing was picking up then as she kept going. "I mean, I've been thinking about more than just me and the baby, you know. I've been thinking about you too."

"Oh, great."

"And how you're probably, like, so upset with me."

"I'm not." Then he frowned. "Wait, over what?"

"How fat and ugly I am."

"Oh, no, I'm not mad about that."

"Paul-"

"You're not fat, idiot. Or ugly. You're pregnant."

"But an idiot?"

"Definitely."

"You're-"

"All of this from a dream, Steph? Huh?"

She took another moment out to try and calm herself by taking a sip from her milkshake, but it did very little. Swallowing, she said then, "No. These things have all just built up, is all."

"Well, get them all out then, I guess." He settled up against the headboard of the bed, motioning for her to continue. "I'll just debunk them all at the very end. Promise."

Another noisy sip. Then, softly, Steph said, "W-Well, another thing that's been bothering me a lot is that it's kind of messed up, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"To still have kids, you know? When you know that the world is so screwed up? Shouldn't we all just stop having kids? And take care of the ones that are already here? But I'm not into zero population stuff or whatever, or I wasn't, but that kind of makes sense, right? And what about teeth?"

"W-What about teeth?"

"Like me and you both have very nice teeth, right? But what if both of ours are so straight that our baby's will be super straight. Too straight. Too perfect. That they get all bunched together and then she has to have braces."

"What's wrong with braces?"

She gave him a look. "You can't be serious."

"I used to think they were cool when I was a-"

"Would you shut up? You said you'd let me finish."

Rude. Paul sat back again, just glaring over at her then.

"Or what if two positives make a negative?" She got right back into as if they hadn't spoken. "And the baby has, like, the ugliest teeth in the world? And still needs braces? Or what if she's just, like, an evil person? In general? Then what?"

He couldn't help himself. "She'll be a McMahon."

That got ignored.

"What if I'm not a good mother?" she asked. "Or your a horrible father? Or if our baby resents us for being gone a lot?"

"We won't be gone a lot."

"Paul."

"The baby's gonna travel with us, when she gets old enough."

Steph made a face. "What about when she starts school? Huh? Then what?"

"I'll home school her."

"Did you even graduate high school?"

"I'm sorry, am I at a job interview?"

"To be the father of my child, yeah."

"Babe, I put that baby in you."

"Oh, gross, Paul."

"If anything I should be questioning just who I chose to drop my seed in."

"You're being disgusting."

"And you're being irrational."

"No, I'm not." She was defiant on that fact. "I mean, what if, like, both of us die or something and then one of our parents have to raise our baby, but all four of them die too and then Shane has to do it, but he doesn't want to and-"

"Steph, are you stoned?"

"W-What?"

He shifted closer again, reaching an arm out to wrap it around her shoulders. "Are you?"

"No."

"You shouldn't smoke, Steph." Then he reached over with his other hand to pat her stomach. "And who knows what this is gonna do to the poor baby."

"I'm not high!"

"Then what are you?"

"Just..." She took a deep breath as he took her milkshake from her and moved to set it on his nightstand. "I don't know. I got home and you were sleeping and then I was going to take a nap too, but I had that horrible drea and it brought up all those..."

"Feelings?" he suggested softly as she fell into him. When she nodded against his chest, Paul leaned his head down to nuzzle his against hers. "Where'd you even go?"

"I had to take something to Dad and then I was hungry and then Dad called my cell and said he needed me again and then we got into it-"

"You and Vince?"

"Sorta."

"Over what?"

"It's stupid."

"Tell me." All the crap he'd just sat through, she couldn't get much stupider. "Steph."

"Just… I was trying to explain to him about the whole teeth thing-"

"Steph, are you telling other people these damn things?"

"Some of them, yes."

Ugh.

"You're really stressed about this shit, aren't you?" he asked as she tilted her head up to stare at him. When she nodded, he said, "Well, don't be. About any of it. It's all really dumb."

"Just calling what I'm afraid of dumb doesn't make it go away."

"You're just overly tired recently," he diagnosed as her head fell back to resting against him. "And stressed. And...so what? Vince got mad that you-"

"He said what I was talking about was idiotic and then just tried to change the subject." With him, Steph's tone had been more worried. The second she started talking about her father though, it took a slightly more agitated grumble. "When I was still talking! So I-"

"You got into an argument with your father over the fact that our child may, one day, need braces?"

"It's more than that, Paul."

"Huh." He let out a long breath. "Maybe you need to just go back to bed, babe."

"I can't. Not after that dream. And give me my laptop back. I'm sure there's a meaning to-"

"Steph, you're just pregnant." And wasn't that the answer to it all? Maybe. Or his woman was just crazy… "And tired. And working far too much-"

"I am not."

"You're not what?" He made a shocked face down at her. "Pregnant? I knew it. You tricky McMahons thought you could pull a fast one on me again, but it won't work this time. I-"

"Paul, you're not helping."

"Fine." He gently shook her off then as Steph only scooted away, watching as he moved down the bed a bit. Facing her, he accidentally kicked poor Bluto off the bed just about (the dog managed to jump off on his own before that happened, dejected and heading out of the room to his doggy bed in the living room) as he stretched out, feet hanging over the edge of the mattress. Paul gently pressed his face against her clothed stomach before saying, "I'll do just what I said."

"What'd you say?"

"That I'll debunk every stupid thing you said." Using one hand to push up her shirt a bit, he pressed a kiss against her flesh though his eyes were staring up at her, his long hair falling over them. Softly, he said, "Steph, our baby's fine. You know how I know?" When she shook her head no, he said, "Because, you go to the damn doctor all the time. Remember? And they don't think something's wrong with it. And- There. It moved." She got another kiss. "And even if it did have an extra finger or toe or one less toe or finger-"

"Or some sort of weird mixture."

"-it'd still be my baby. Would it not yours?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"And I really don't think you have to worry about the population much, Steph. I think that sorta stuff gets worked out on its own."

"But what if it doesn't? Then what?"

"Well...we'll all be dead by then. So there's that."

Which wasn't a debunk, but certainly an elimination of the problem. It worked just as well.

"And," he went on, "I don't care if the kid has straight teeth, crooked teeth, or is bucktooth; with my genes and your genes, it's gonna look so hot-"

"That is your daughter."

"Well, cute then. Whatever." He huffed a bit. "What were your other complaints? Something about a third eye?"

"With blood coming out of it and I think I might be having, like, Rosemary's Baby or something-"

"Steph, we have more money than, like, most everyone." He gave her a frown. "If our kid has a third eye, we'll just plop it out and get it all cosmetically fixed up, yeah?"

"But I think it's a sign of-"

"You know it's not, so knock it off."

She deflated a bit. "Well I just… It was creepy."

"I know."

"And I don't want to go back to sleep. And have it again."

"Is that why you're keeping me up with all these stupid problems?"

She reached down to flick his head. "You're the one that involved yourself in this. If you would just give me back my laptop-"

"I needed to get up anyways," he admitted to her when, after another kiss to her stomach, he tugged the shirt back down and moved to push up. "I was only supposed to be napping. Not going to bed. I need to eat and I wanna shower and- Oh, damn, Steph, did you go into the nursery yet? Since you got home?" Not waiting for an answer, he was moving to help her up. "Come on. I gotta show you how greatly I put together the crib."

Which at least gave them something to focus on instead of self created issues. And she sat up with him, even though she was yawning by that point, as he ate one of his meals. They actually got that done in mostly silence, they were both so comfortable then. Bluto sat under the kitchen table as Steph rubbed at his head and Paul sat across from her at the table, watching her equally as much as he was eating.

"We're pretty damn boring," he told her for not he first time as he washed his dish and she took the dog to the bathroom one last time. "Steph."

"Mmmm," she hummed after letting Bluto out the back door. "I dunno. That crib building was pretty intense for you, right?"

"Not as intense as that dream was for you, St-"

"Why did you mention that?" she grumbled as, after putting his dish on the rack, he turned to grin over at her. "I was trying to forget about it."

"Having three eyes, assuming they were all functioning," he told her in a rather serious tone, "would actually be rather interesting. Where would the third eye be? Above the other two? Or would it be a straight row of eyes? Would it help with depth perception? Or hurt it? Honestly, these are the sorts of experiments we need to be working on."

"I think being married to you," Steph grumbled as she let Bluto back in when he scratched at the door, "is the reason for my nightmares."

"I'm furthering the human race. You zero pop. people sure are annoying."

"You'd know something about zero pop, wouldn't you?"

"Not really, princess. I practically fucking invented it."

"Hardly."

Bluto wasn't risking being kicked off the bed again, so he didn't head to bed with them, but it was better that way, Paul felt. The dog always somehow would wiggle his way up between the two of them and then breathed in his face all night.

It was annoying.

"Hey, Paul?"

They were in bed then, him with his head buried in his pillow with no intention of lifting it, so that man only grunted.

"Maybe it was a bit of being tired, but I think a lot of what I told you was just me thinking up things so that I could stay awake for as long as possible and not have to go to sleep. I mean, like, I'd thought of those things before, but-"

"Steph, what are the chances of you having the same dream six times?"

"What were the chances of it happening five?"

Hmmm…

"If it is a sign that you're birthing in the Apocalypse-"

"Paul-"

"-then I want to know just what kind of guy would try to cuckold me into something like that." He turned his head to the side to stare over at her. "I'll hardly be able to raise a regular baby. But a demon?"

"You're impossible."

"You started it, Rosemary." He let out a long breath. Then, softly, he said, "You're just stressed, Steph. That's all. So just relax. About everything."

"That's easy for you to say."

"It is," he agreed. "That's why I'm the one saying it; because I don't need you to tell me to do something I already do." Then, with a grin in the darkness, he told her, "You're worried about the baby. And that's feeding into you dreaming bad things about her. That's all. Think of other things. Like how I do."

"What do you think about?"

"I dunno. I think about how great the baby's going to think her crib is."

"You do not."

"I'm gonna start."

"You're so annoying."

"I think about a lotta things, Steph. Like, you know...fatherly things." He was uncomfortable though, she could tell.

Which meant she'd only push him more.

"Like what?"

"Well...I like to think about what the baby will look like, I guess." He had turned his head back into the pillow then, muffling his voice. It was so quiet in there though that she could hear him. "And I like to think about how much fun my sister's kids will have, babysitting her. And my parents. It'll be cool too, finally, to not have to hear about how your brother and sister have a kid and we don't."

"Not to mention," she joked softly, "you'll finally have an excuse for keeping those action figures of yourself."

"I don't need an excuse. I should keep a copy of every single one. What? You think the kid's getting to play with those? No way."

"You're too cute."

"And it's too late for you to still be up."

He had a point. She did have to get up in the morning.

"I just...can't sleep."

Paul left his head pressed into the pillow, but did hold up the hand closest to her, waiting for the woman to grasp it. Once she did, both their hands fell down between them still clasped together.

"I think you've grown out of the age of being fearful of nightmares, Steph."

"I don't, like, think that the baby will really come out with three eyes."

"A bloody filled third eye." He hummed. "That sounds super dark."

"I just...would rather not have that dream again. The baby was making these horrible noises and the hospital room was really odd and the doctor was..." She shivered. "It was just creepy."

"Don't think about the baby being born then. Or even as a baby. Think past that." Paul gripped her hand a bit. "Aren't women good at projecting that sorta stuff?"

"I guess I should be."

"If you don't think thoughts of the baby will make you feel better, think about me."

"You?"

"Me," he agreed. "I'm a pretty good person to think about in general."

"Are you though?"

Nodding against his pillow, he said, "Just think about all the great things I've done for you until you fall asleep."

"I can't fall asleep in ten seconds."

"Ha ha. I've done more than enough good for you to fill up, at least, twenty seconds, so-"

"If I have that dream again-"

"Then wake me up, baby." Paul squeezed her hand. "Wake me up whenever you need me."

But, of course, she didn't have that dream again (Paul figured she was being dramatic anyways; same dream five times was bullshit). Oh, no, She had a dream about how the baby was trapped underwater and they couldn't get it and it drowned and they just _had_ to look up the meaning to that.

They had to.

"This baby," he grumbled as he laid there miserably, listening to Steph read off to him what drowning in dreams symbolized, "better be fuckin' awesome. You hear me? Baby? You owe me."

Big time.


End file.
